Open Your Eyes
by AllyPally2
Summary: When Black Widow wakes up in the Avenger's Mansion no one is happy to see her, especially Hawkeye, who is still fuming over her recent betrayal. Rated M to be safe as there is some strong language. Reviews welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer : I do not own the Avengers, sadly not even one of them. This fan fiction is based heavily upon the cartoon series 'Avengers-Earth's Mightiest Heroes', but also uses the line up in the film, so a bit of a cross between I guess (although I haven't seen the film at this point in time). The events in this story may not follow the storyline set in 'Avengers-EMHs' (again I haven't watched all of the episodes yet), so please read on, and I hope you enjoy!

**BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!**

'_Somebody turn that thing off!'_

**BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!**

'_What is that damn noise? An alarm clock or something?'_

Natasha Romanoff kept her eyes closed tight, clinging onto the brink of sleep, as she flung her arms around wildly, frantically searching for the source of the increasing noise. Except she would have, if she could move her arms. A sensation similar to a hitting a brick wall exploded in her forearms, travelling up to her shoulders. Snapping her eyes open as she was thrown backwards by the momentum of whatever it was she had impacted against, Natasha squinted against the eye-watering brightness that met her pupils. Forcing her eyes to remain open she continued to squint whilst attempting to mover her arms again, this time with less brute force. And again she was unsuccessful.

'_Keep calm. There's no point in panicking yet. Just focus on adjusting your eyes for now'._

Inhaling and exhaling deeply she concentrated on sharpening her vision, and slowly but surely the world around her was beginning to form into detail. It occurred to her that this process was taking a lot longer than it should have for a person as highly skilled at adapting to any situation like herself, but she pushed this thought away as quickly as it had arrived, desperate to stifle anything that could cause anxiety and send her into hazy vision again. Deciding that struggling to use her arms was futile for the time being, Natasha revolved her head from side to side, soaking in her ever-clearer surroundings. There was a lot of grey. The walls, the furniture, all colour coordinated in the drab colour. As the sharpness in her sight regained, she noted that the table beside her was made of what she presumed to be steel. Turning her head to look above her, she frowned, drawing her eyes to a squint once more. There was a bright overhead light, facing directly down on her head, the kind that are favoured by dentists, or torturers. Again she instantly pressed that last thought away for the time being, after all it wasn't exactly like she was a novice at torture, from either side. As she cleared her mind, she noticed that the annoying beeping sound was also slowing, now reaching a much less irritating pace. Suddenly whatever she was lying on began bend, just above her lower back, forcing the top half of her body to rise towards the light, until she was almost in a sitting position. Wincing at the new change of light, implored her eyes to re-adjust, but once again her keen senses seemed to be lagging. Dropping her head in an attempt to aid her sight along, it was then that she noticed what her arms had connected with. Several thick black straps held her down, pressing down against her not only across her arms, but all the way down to her shins. A quiet movement stole her attention, and her head whipped up, almost butting the light in the process. Although she could still not properly focus, she made out a figure in the dark of the room, noting the basic details from what she could register.

'_Average height. Male, slight build…'_

Her mental note-taking was interrupted by a voice, which presumably belonged to the figure,

"Ahh Natasha, nice of you to join the world of the living again".

Though the voice was heavily laden with acidic sarcasm, Natasha immediately identified the speaker.

"Bruce?"

Fighting the instinct to add more questions about her current predicament, she bit her tongue, instead trusting her knowledge about her present companion. Just as she had silently predicted to herself, Bruce Banner stepped slowly towards her, clearly savouring having the upper hand over her, until he had fully emerged into the light. He was dressed in a white lab coat, tatty cheap clothes underneath, after all who bothers buying expensive clothes that could be ripped to shreds at any given moment? To begin with Natasha observed him as holding his usual reserved expression, but as her eyes drew into focus on his face, she noticed the tensing of his jaw as it clenched and unclenched; the vein in his right temple protruding ever so slightly, his nostrils flaring subtly. All clues that would have remained unnoticed by the untrained eye, except for the green hue which had now began flooding into his brown eyes.

'_Great. He's mad'._

Bruce closed his eyes, taking a breath, and no doubt a moment to compose himself. When he reopened them he aimed an icy glare at Natasha, but she noticed with relief, that the green had mostly disappeared from, now reduced to minute emerald flecks amongst the brown. Whilst normally she could hold her own against The Hulk, strapped down at her most vulnerable was not a time that she wished to encounter him.

"We're in the Avenger's mansion I presume…"

It was more of a statement than a question, but Bruce answered nonetheless,

"Correct as always Natasha."

The disdain was clear in his voice, as though talking was causing venom to seep from his tongue. She noticed how riled even saying a few words to her was causing him to become, and wondered exactly what it was she had done that had landed her into this situation. Racking her brains for an answer, a searing pain shot through her skull, and biting her lip, she withheld a cry of pain. Forcing her eyes open again, in order to keep up the pretence, she had once again lost focus in her sight.

'_What the hell is going on with me?'_

She had meant for the question to be spoken, but instead it resounded inside her head, as it seemed momentarily impossible for her to move her mouth into forming words. Something was very wrong here, she was not on form, and this was a time she definitely needed to be at the top of the game.

'_Snap out of it. Stop being so pathetic.'_

Mentally scolding herself seemed to break her out of her hazy trance. Screwing up her face in concentration she forced the words out, the amount of effort she was using, she had expected her voice to form a yell or scream, but instead it remained placid and calm,

"Let me go."

Bruce, who had turned with his back to her by now, twisted his head, peering over his shoulder and starting at her incredulously. He dropped his hand, and a magnified banging sound pierced her ears, causing her to fight the instinctual reaction to wince and show pain. Bruce was now stalking towards her, and though she couldn't work out what it was, she was sure there was something else mixed in with his obvious anger. Fighting for her eyes to work properly, a moment of clarity appeared, he was inches in front of her face now, and she was sure she could see the beginnings of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. She had never seen Bruce Banner like this, sure, The Hulk she had seen tear apart buildings and roar in enemies' faces before pounding them to a pulp; but Bruce was always so in control of his emotions, careful to protect those around him, even if he was seething with rage. Now, the combination of anger and amusement presented the scientist in a what she could only find to be a manic way.

'_Crap. He's lost his mind'._

"What did you just say?"

The sides of his lips continued to upturn as he asked her to repeat her statement. He had clearly heard, and the obscenity of her ordering him around had not failed to humour him. She moved her eyes to look at his now, and noticed the increasing green hue. He was definitely still fuming, but she decided to carry on anyway, after all, it didn't seem that her current situation could get much worse.

"Let me go Bruce." She gritted her teeth as she spoke, the pain once again flaring through her temples, "You're not doing anyone any favours keeping me here, least of all yourself. Untie me, and I'll leave straight away. Quietly."

Bruce's face now held a bemused expression, but the slight mania was still there. Pausing for only a second, he eyed her curiously, before a deep bellowing laugh exploded from him, his entire body shaking. Natasha felt as though her head was being ripped apart by the sound, and her hands automatically faced to cover her ears, but once again being stopped by the restraints. Her eyes widened at the searing pain, now not only in her head but also racing down her forearms now, and a small grunt of pain escaped her lips. She was unsure whether her involuntary struggling had created any noise, or whether it was purely her grunt, but Bruce snapped out of his crazed state. Taking a deep, calming breath he looked down at her again,

"You're not going anywhere Natasha. We've been waiting for some time to get some answers from you, some of us more than others….so if you think I'm letting you leave her, you must be out of you mind."

'_Yeah, right. __**I'm**__ the one that's crazy here!'_

The words silently echoed in her mind, she had resigned to only speaking when desperately needing to, as the forming of words was presenting increasing pain, and difficulty. She threw an icy glare up at him, or at least she tried to. She was struggling to control her sight even more so now. Bruce chose her silence as a prompt to continue,

"As for not doing anyone any favours, I'm pretty sure you have an old acquaintance that would strongly disagree with that."

'_Oh god'._

Her fingers began fumbling frantically with the restraints, feeling blindly for a way to prise herself free. Her vision was gaining and fading rapidly now, switching from detailed focus to blurry edged, the later of which she noticed seemed to increase each time.

"There's really no point struggling, there's no one who'll rescue you."

"I don't' need anyone to rescue me," the words presented another searing pain the blackened her vision temporarily but she would never lay in silence pretending to be a damsel in distress, even if she was in a lot of distress right now.

"Oh I don't underestimate you Natasha," she had lost all focus to her vision now, and relying heavily on her failing hearing she was sure she could detect humour again in his voice, "and you shouldn't underestimate me."

'_He's drugged me! The bastard!'_

The sudden realisation hit her at the same time as darkness completely engulfed her senses.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi guys,

Firstly let me apologise for the atrociously long gap between chapters, I've had a busy few weeks lately but I will make sure that I write the follow up chapters without such huge time spaces between them.

Secondly, a huge thank you for the lovely responses and reactions to my story so far, I hope you continue to enjoy it, and I'll start typing away at Chapter 3 for you lot.

Searing pain racing across her scalp told Natasha that she was awake again. Attempting to prise her eyes open, her eyelids fluttered multiple times, trying to adjust her vision to the bright light streaming through.

'_This place must either have the world's brightest bulbs or no room in the budget for lightshades…'_

She turned her head, laying her right cheek against the hard cool surface, momentarily achieving some relief from the pain of the light. She didn't bother trying to move the rest of her body, after all if Bruce had taken measures to the point of drugging, she somehow doubted that leaving her with the chance of waking up untied would be an idea circling through his head; even if she was in a worse for wear state for the time being. Instead she decided to try and focus on regaining her eyesight. The sedative, or god knows what it was that Bruce had given her, was one hell of a concoction; she couldn't remember much, but she knew that it had caused her to struggle in maintaining a grip on consciousness, and she was trained with immunity against many sedatives and harmful drugs. Finally summoning her eyelids to cooperate with her brain, they fluttered open, and in the same moment she wished they hadn't. Immediately closing her eyes shut, she instinctively pretended to be asleep.

"You can stop pretending, I've already seen you."

Natasha found herself taken aback by the venom dripping from the words, and realised she had been unconsciously holding her breathe while pretending to still be asleep. Squeezing her eyes tight, she eventually opened them again, sweeping up and down the figure beside her. Clint Barton was leaning back, deep into the material of the chair, but the white knuckles clenching on the arms of the chair revealed his pose was anything but relaxed. He was dressed in his 'fighting' attire, and Natasha noticed a fine layer of dust and specks of rubble resting upon the purple uniform. The trademark bow rested against the legs of the chair.

'_No arrows, at least none I can see….don't be fooled into thinking this is a friendly visit though….'_

It would hardly take a second for him to be aiming the arrow of his choice directly in her face if he decided that he didn't like what was going on. She had noticed in the moment of briefly opening her eyes beforehand that Hawkeye wasn't wearing his mask, and choosing not to look at his face; Natasha raised her eyes to stare up ahead at the light bulb swinging ever so slightly.

"What is Hydra working on with the Hulk's blood?"

The hostile words interrupted the awkward silence that had befallen the room and Natasha continued to stare blankly ahead at the light. Clint left the question to echo into silence, before taking a deep breath.

'_He's calming himself down'_

She didn't need to turn her head to watch him; she could mentally picture the actions of her ex-partner in her eyes. His eyes closing as he forced himself to take deep, calming breathes, his chest heaving up and down slowly, while his knuckles turned a paler shade digging into the arms of the chair. Her trained ears homed in on the barely audible noises of the chair and Clint's clothing as she leaned forwards in his seat.

"Why does Hydra need Hulk's blood?"

The second attempt of questioning was much shorter and snappier in the way Clint delivered it, and Natasha continued to stare straight ahead, ignoring the demanding in his tone. She could tell that he was hated every second of this, every second of having to be in the same room as her, breathing the same air as her.

'_I guess I could see why I'm not exactly his favourite person right now…'_

Clint would probably never forgive Natasha for her betrayal towards him, she knew that much. Ever since he had uncovered her working for Hydra, and she had framed him as the traitor, Hawkeye had been hunting her down. Not that she'd believed he would actually manage it. Sure he'd come close a couple of times, even tying her up and transporting her halfway towards the Avengers' mansion once, but as one of the world's greatest spies she had always been able to escape when and if she wished. This time was different, although she suspected that she was in some underground lab of the mansion belonging to the Avengers, she couldn't be certain; and as a woman whose survival ensured on being certain about situations, she didn't like this one bit. Particularly being left alone with Clint. Both times that she had encountered him after her betrayal, he had seemed angry, but this time was different, this time she didn't have a good grasp on what was going on, or an escape route planned. At least, not yet.

"Widow."

Clint's low growl cut into Natasha's thoughts, giving welcome relief from her imaginations of the ways this scenario could turn nasty. She knew Clint would not tolerate being ignored for much longer, fighting a smile as she remembered how Clint, always the calmer of the two of them, has practically thrown a tantrum when being ignored during an interrogation once. But that had been a long time ago, back at the start of their partnership, and while she knew that he still didn't enjoy being ignored, Natasha had a hunch that his reaction had probably altered over the years. Her ears picked up on a faint cracking noise she swore was Clint tightening his fist, and softly she cleared her throat,

"Let me go."

Her words were a simple statement, just as she had desired them to be. She had refrained from including his name, not made eye contact; basically avoiding anything personal. The decision to not look at him had been her first. The edges of her vision blurring slightly was the first clue to Clint's reaction. Cursing herself for not keeping her hearing trained on him, Natasha forced her head to turn against the sharp, harsh sensation of fingers digging into flesh. Black spots began to swim around the corners of her eyes, but somehow she seemed to perceive Clint's face in almost perfect clarity.

Clint Barton's face, which usually held a kind, calming quality to it, had contorted into a cross between glaring and scowling. Natasha wasn't completely sure if it was the pressure on her neck or not, but his skin seemed to be reddening, and the vein in his right temple was protruding so far that she was sure if she concentrated on it, she would see it pulsating. If the grasp on her neck wasn't so constricting, Natasha might have found this situation funny. But between the vice-like hold on her windpipes, and the malicious intent wild in Clint's eyes, this scenario was definitely not funny. Instead of leaning closer to her, Clint dragged Natasha's face forward, pinching her skin as his grip tightened around her throat, until the body restraints forcibly halted hiss moving her. Wincing at the pain as the straps dug into her skin, she knew that discomfort had been visible in her expression, as Clint seemed to stop pulling her forwards, although his grip didn't release at all.

'_Maybe personal was the way to go….'_

He had her right where he wanted her. Her head was still raised slightly from the metal bench it had been resting on, and the hard grip on her throat ensured that she couldn't sweet talk her way of trouble. At least not until he wanted to hear her answers. She could feel the desperation rising in her eyes as her own continued to hold his stare. The anger had transformed his pale blue irises to a deeper stormy ocean colour, vivid against the bloodshot red. She presumed this was due to sleep deprivation and tiredness,

'_No doubt I'm to blame for that.'_

"You're gonna have to repeat that again for me Natasha, cause to me, it sounded like you were telling me to let you go! You'd have to be an idiot to believe I'd do that!" Clint paused, leaning closer to her face, until there were mere centimetres of air separating them, "And we both know you're not an idiot don't we?"

'_Something tells me that might have been a back-handed compliment there…'_

Natasha opened her mouth to speak, she could hardly avoid responding now, and after all she had evaded doing so for a considerable amount of time. But as her mouth moved to form the words Clint was clearly so desperate to hear, her vision began to swim even more, to the point where she was sure that she could physically feel her pupils retracting and expanding. Either Clint was intentionally pushing her to the brink of unconsciousness or his hold on her neck had increased in pressure. Realising what he was doing, Clint withdrew his hand, causing her head to smack back onto the metal surface. Hard.

'_Jesus Christ Clint!'_

If the pain flooding across the back of her skull at the impact was intense, it was nothing compared to the sudden surge of air forcing its way down her windpipes. Gasping and choking, as the impact of the oxygen re-entering her lungs temporarily winded her, Natasha's hands instinctively moved to protect her throat from further damage; but still bound by her restraints, she settled for hopeless attempts at digging her fingertips into the flat, cold metal.

"Sorry, habit I guess," Clint's tone held no inkling of remorse, although as she carefully focused her gaze on him, he did seem to display mild confusion at his actions. The furrow in his brow disappeared as he quickly noticed her studying him, and regaining his seething expression, he lowered his voice to a vicious growl, "Although you are about as trustworthy as a snake in long grass."

He gave her a few moments to recover the ability of speech, before becoming impatient again, "Well…weren't you about to concoct some elaborate lie or scheme about how I should just release you?"

Natasha continued to maintain Clint's gaze, even though the way he was staring at her right now seemed likely for his vision to bore straight through her head, "You need to let me go Clint," the quality of her voice was raspy and although it cracked in places, she managed to resume the firm, calmness she had spoken with earlier, "or Hydra will."

She wasn't sure exactly what reaction she had been expecting from the man stood before her; perhaps for him to storm out of the doorway and alert the others to a potential invasion, to resume his hand's suffocating gesture around her throat, or even on some level she had anticipated for him to grab his bow and arrow and kill her right there and then. She had not in any instance expected a small chortle to emerge, and subsequently erupt into a booming chuckle. It took him a few moments to recompose himself, but Natasha was completely certain that the expression of bewilderment was still etched across her face by the time that a relatively calm Clint was looming over her again. Turning her face away from his, the breath hot against her cheek revealed how close he was,

"You think Hydra are coming for you? Your precious Hydra left you for dead, which you would be by the way, if we hadn't have scraped you off the pavement." She could hear the malicious grin in his voice as he savoured them, "So I think you can give up on that rescue mission."

Natasha Romanoff continued to stare blankly ahead, as Clint Barton marched his way out of her newfound prison cell without another word.

'_Crap.'_


	3. Chapter 3

The memory of Clint's eyes burned in her brain. Images of him tossing and turning, unable to sleep after discovering her capture, maybe he had not even attempted to sleep at all and had paced the floors of Stark's mansion during the night, drawing his bow back and using anything he had seen as target practice. Now he was even angrier. Although he had laughed manically before leaving the room, Natasha was certain she had heard a distinct bang, followed by a symphony of crashing from somewhere relatively distant. She continued to stare into thin air, as she perfectly pictured Clint Barton striding out of the door and along the corridor, long, purposeful strides; the ones he used to try and wear down his anger. Reaching a point which he believed to be a safe enough distance from both herself, and the other Avengers; he stopped dead in his tracks, his breathing growing shallower, and more rapid.

**BANG**!

The sound of his fist connecting with the metal vent made a satisfying noise, but was not quite as frustration quenching as he had planned. Natasha continued to mentally watch as Clint kept his fist held in the dent he had created, whilst deciding what to do with his over-boiling anger. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint noticed a selection of shelves, holding a variety of empty paint cans and various tools. Within seconds, he had descended into blind fury, obliterating every object he could find. When the last shred of rage had escaped from him, Clint slumped down amongst the self-created chaos. He laid one leg out straight, kicking a damaged paint can out of the way, and rested his elbow on his other bent leg. His eyes looked up at nothing in particular, as he calmed his breathing and pulse, before he surveyed the debris. Frowning, and with a heavy sigh he pushed himself up to standing, and began to replace the broken items onto the shelf.

Natasha closed her eyes, wishing the images of Clint away. She knew he had not intended for her to hear him earlier, if anything it would only make him more enraged to learn that she had heard him 'expressing' his emotions. It had surprised her at first, to realise that Clint had been the source of the commotion; during their partnership he had always been the one able to shrug off annoyance, usually able to calm himself through breathing techniques or by channelling his anger into target practice. She had been the one who had left numerous marks on the walls of the Shield training room from when the punch bag has not been satisfying enough, not Clint.

'_No prizes for guessing who's to blame for that too…'_

The effects of the drugs were starting to wear off a little now, Natasha could tell by the aches and pain beginning to slowly flood over her body. She forced herself to try and recollect her thoughts, attempting to remember what had happened before she had woken up to see Bruce Banner. Even with her eyes closed all she could see was Clint's face, but it wasn't an image of him looming over her now, like it had been earlier; instead now he was stood atop a yellow taxi in the middle of the street, drawing back an arrow with exact precision. Clint's face began to blur and slowly morphed into Tony Stark, his visor on his helmet down, and a concerned look on his face. No sooner had the image developed, his visor slammed shut, and a hammer whooshed past. Following the hammer's trail, Thor was now standing before her, the Hulk swinging his fist into several Hydra agents at once, and punching them into oblivion. Once again the image started fading away to black,

**CRASH!**

Tumbling rubble suddenly appeared, falling all around her. Dodging many parts of debris, a rapid swirl of red, white and blue caught her eye too late.

**THWACK!**

Thrown backwards by the force of Captain America's shield clipping the side of her temple, she hit the ground hard. All of a sudden the shield was replaced with Baron Strucker's face staring down on her, a look of disappointment mixed with malice on his face. Abruptly his face moved several metres away from in front of hers, and he now stood at a doorway, wreckage still pouring down beside him. He still maintained that look, but now there seemed to be a faint smile present. Then he turned and exited through the door.

**CLICK.**

Bright light flooded into her pupils, as she opened her eyes, finding herself back in the Avenger's mansion. She noticed a figure closing the door, his back to her, and as he turned around Natasha tried to stifle a gasp. Unable to separate reality from memories, she blurted out the words before she could stop herself,

"You left me…"

Baron Strucker was stood in front of her, his face still gnarled into a mixed expression, but confusion began to overtake anger.

"You're a big girl Widow, I reckoned you could handle yourself for an hour or two."

The voice that left Strucker's mouth did not match him face. And as he stepped closer towards her, Natasha watched as Strucker's features began to soften and morph, until Bruce Banner was standing beside her, a bemused expression on his face, still laced with an edge of disdain.

"I did leave you with a sitter you know."

Banner smirked as he remembered Clint's face when he had informed him that he could go and interrogate Natasha. Even though the archer had remained calm when Bruce had delivered the news, Clint had rushed off straight away to where Natasha was being kept, like a child racing to open birthday presents. Bruce hadn't seen Hawkeye since he had headed down to the basement level, which he had taken to be a sign that either he hadn't been able to break Widow, or that he was still trying; and since nearly three hours had passed, Bruce had come to check. At first glance, with Clint's absence he had presumed that the former was true, but something in Widow's face as he had entered, made him wonder if Clint had actually had an effect on Natasha. Bruce directed his gaze back down to look at Natasha, but she had regained her cold composure, once again staring at the ceiling.

'_Looks like she's planning on doing this the hard way after all….'_

Sending Clint in to talk to her had by no means been a pleasant experience, for either individual, but Bruce suspected that the reason Clint had been sent in first was due to his emotional ties to the situation; and whilst Barton had spent months dedicated to catching the Black Widow, something told Bruce that Clint was reluctant to use more _violent_ methods to extract information from her, although he didn't understand what had exactly given him this hunch. Bruce reached over to the small metal trolley stand near Natasha's _bed_, and picked up a large syringe, filled with a creamy coloured liquid. If Natasha had flinched at the sight of the needle, she could only have done so for a mille-second. Just as Bruce opened his mouth to speak, an all too familiar beeping sound resounded around the room. Digging into his lab coat pocket, Bruce retrieved his calling card, pressing the speaker button as he did so.

"What is it Tony? Can't it wait for a little while?"

"Uh, no, not really Banner…you might wanna get up here, like now.."

Bruce frowned at the card, if any other member of the team had called him, he wouldn't have questioned the situation, but Tony Stark had once called Bruce away from the middle of an important test on some new Avengers equipment; for the scientist to run through the mansions halls, only to find Tony wanting help to make breakfast.

"Is the world about to be destroyed?"

"Well, no.."

"Are you the only Avenger in the mansion?"

"No…."

"Then can't you deal without me for this one?"

Bruce's frowned deepened as there was a small crackle in the silence, before Tony answered back,

"The world is not about to meet extinction right now, but we might be. We have a…erm visitor…who just kinda **demanded** our presence. And I don't think you have the choice of missing this group reunion.."

Thor and Captain America had been walking down the main corridor of the mansion, heading towards the front door. They had been looking for Clint, as since they had been unsuccessful in finding him anywhere around the mansion, Thor had suggested that Hawkeye might be outside. It was a credible suggestion, since the team knew that Barton was prone to 'nesting' in high places, and the trees outside the mansion provided the perfection combination of height and coverage.

"I wonder what words the maiden could have spoken to upset friend Hawkeye so…"

"She probably didn't have to say anything Thor."

Steve Rogers kept his head bent, staring down at the carpeted hallway, grinding his teeth as he spoke the words. He had been reluctant to let Hawkeye be the first to interrogate Black Widow, torn between the fact that there was a history between the two, and that she may be more likely to divulge information to Barton; but their history was also the reason Steve had been hesitant to let him go alone.

'_Bruce and Tony are right Steve. It has to be me. And it has to be only me.'_

The image of Clint muttering these words before walking out of their group meeting kept replaying in Steve's mind. He hadn't liked it one bit; the way that Clint was acting like a martyr, and the fact that Hulk and Ironman had been so quick to push him into it. In his opinion, Widow was just as likely to give as little information to Hawkeye as she would the others.

"Relationships on Midgard seem very…complicated…"

Thor's statement drew Cap' out of his thoughts, and he had to release a small chuckle at the Demi-God's bemused expression.

"You have no idea Thor."

They were now a few paces away from the front door, when it was knocked down off its hinges, resulting in a thunderous bang. At the sound Cap' and Thor both sprang into 'battle' positions, Captain readying his shield; Thor swinging his hammer behind him, until they looked closer at the person in front of them. Nick Fury stood before the two men, standing on the crushed piece of wood which had been the door. Stepping off the splintered wood, his long black coat flared up around his ankles, and now Thor and Captain America could see the hoard of SHIELD agents arranged behind him outside of the mansion; but the most startling sight was the anger on Fury's face. Practically growling, he divided his glares equally between the two men. Straightening up, Captain was the first to speak.

"Sir…"

"Gentlemen! Go get the others and assemble in the mission room NOW!"


	4. Chapter 4

Right firstly, let me apologise for the appalling length of time between updates. I've been busy, but I feel so bad that I've left it so long. SO my plan is to upload the next chapter after this within the next two days! 

He paced footsteps at a slower rate than normal, savouring every noise made as his feet connected with the hard grey surface. Although he hadn't been in the room yet, he had a pretty good idea what he was about to be faced with. He had expected to be in this position for a while, ever since the battle against Hydra a couple of days ago. Sighing a little, he took a deep breath, pushing out his chest as it inflated, and strode through the automatic door.

"Ahh, Agent Barton, so good of you to **finally** join us. **Please** take a seat."

The words were phrased in a polite manner but the delivery was just clinging onto the edge of being civil. The strain in Fury's voice, alongside the bulging eye that was staring at him, told Clint not to take his time anymore. Hurrying to a seat, he found himself next to Tony, who gave him a small wink, and tapped a finger on his watch as he sat in the chair.

'_Typical Tony, can't take anything seriously'_

Normally the playboy's actions would have received an eye-roll from him, but this time Clint smirked to himself, making sure that his smirk was not visible on his face. If Fury was aiming for a target to home in on, Tony Stark was playing up to the part spectacularly.

"It has come to my attention that previous orders are being ignored. **Specific orders**, that were given for good reason!"

Clint shifted slightly in his seat, uncomfortable at where he knew this little lecture was heading.

"Now would any of you care to explain to me exactly **why** the Avengers spent their time, and **my** resources hunting after the Black Widow, when I **expressively **told you not to?!" Fury's glare bore straight into Clint's skull, as he raged.

'_Damn. Knew it."_

Before Clint could clear his throat to reply in some form of protest, Steve answered, directing Fury's attention away from the archer.

"Sir the mission was to battle Hydra, and protect the civilians in the nearby area. Hydra were our target, not the Black Widow."

The calmness with which the Captain responded to Fury's anger, seemed to momentarily confused the director; mainly because he was expecting Barton to answer him, but he quickly composed himself back to his manic state.

"And just **how** did you manage to track down Hydra and give yourselves this self-assigned mission?"

"Ay, we followed the maiden who does Baron Strucker's bidding, as you insinuate; but thy Avengers and I believed this to be vital to saving the lives of many Midgardians…."

"So you admit you clearly violated my order then!"

"But the lives of Midgardians were saved in the process….."

Clint had to supress another chortle as Fury's eye continued to bulge even more. Thor was genuinely perplexed at the issue, and it was only aggravating SHIELD director further.

"Saved? **Saved?!**" Fury let out a manic chuckle, which gave Clint the shivers, "Our intelligence on the inside told us that Strucker was not planning to attack for a few weeks. I've been working my ass off, organising a counter attack to take out Strucker, and **you!**" Spittle flew from his mouth, as he angrily jabbed a finger in the direction of each of the men in turn, "You ruined **weeks** of strategy, by rushing in and causing an all-out **shoot out** in the middle of New York City!"

Fury turned back to Thor, his face centimetres from the God's,

"You talk about **saving** lives. Your impatience caused more casualties than there should have been!"

Clint swore he could hear a distant rumble of thunder, and decided enough was enough. Standing from his seat, he cleared his throat.

"It was **my** impatience. I was the one who wanted to find her.."

Clint wasn't sure exactly how he was going to continue, but Fury didn't give him the chance. Striding over towards him, head cocked to one side, the Director looked dangerously violent as he closed in on Clint.

"You think I don't already know that?!"

"Actually we all agreed to the plan."

Fury whipped his head round to see the smallest of the men standing, and took a moment before deciding it was probably not the best idea to rant at Bruce Banner.

"No. It was **my** idea**. I** was the one who pushed it." Clint refused to let any of his team mates take the blame, besides it was pretty clear that Fury already knew it had been due to Clint.

"And then, here is my **favourite** part. Instead of capturing Strucker, as you so insistently plead was your task behind this **fiasco**, you captured the Black Widow!"

Clint froze for a moment, he should have realised that S.H.I.E.L.D would already know about Natasha being in the basement, but for some reason he hadn't. Before he could speak a word, the last voice in the room made it's appearance.

"Why do you presume that we have the Black Widow?"

Tony Stark was leaning back in his chair, one arm resting on the back of Clint's. His right leg was crossed, so his ankle rested on his left thigh, and he was still wearing those infernal sunglasses of his.

'_Only you, Stark, could look so casual, when asking one of the stupidest questions in history, to one of the most powerful men I've met…'_

"Because, Stark, I have seen the evidence myself. I have seen the damn images of the whole thing with my own eyes!" Turning back to face Clint he continued his rant, "What the hell are you playing at here Barton?! Not only did you show complete disregard for my orders, by targeting the Black Widow, **don't** argue with me that Strucker was the target, but you** captured** her as well?!"

Clint had been half paying attention to Fury's rant; because out of the corner of his eye, while the man had been rambling on, Clint had noticed a frowning grin appear on Tony's face, a look Clint had seen many times before.

'_No, no, no! Stark! Don't even thi….'_

"Eye_**s**_?"

'_..nk about it. Shit.'_

Fury's face darkened, if that was even possible at this moment in time. As tempting as it was to leave Tony to face what he had been deserving for probably quite a long time, Clint quickly stepped in, blurting out the first thing that came into his head,

"We figured she was the next best thing. That Strucker would want to get her back."

Clint stiffened as the lie spilled from his mouth, knowing Fury would cut through it in a second, and sure enough, a delusional smile formed on Fury's face, as though he couldn't believe the ludicrous statement.

"Cut the crap Barton! You knew he wouldn't come for her! This wasn't about Strucker at all! This was about settling a score, a score** I** told **you** to forget about!"

With this last exertion Fury's energy seemed to fade away, anger melting into tired frustration. Placing on hand on his hip, and the other across his forehead, he let out a deep sigh before quietly muttering,

"Widow didn't betray you like you think."

Although he could sense a ripple of confusion and shock among the room, Clint kept his steely gaze on the S.H.I.E.L.D director.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

His voice came out with more of a growly tone than he had intended, but his voice kept steady. More steady than he felt inside. Fury removed his hand from his forehead and lifted his head to stare at Clint.

"Black Widow isn't your enemy…"

"She betrayed me! She double crossed me and left me to rot in a cell! How **exactly** is she not my enemy?!"

Clint regretted it as soon as the words had left his mouth. Not what he had said. He'd meant every word, but the fact that he had displayed his raw emotion to his teammates, in probably the most uncontrolled outburst they had ever witnessed from him. He was always the level headed one, calm against all the odds.

"If you let me continue Barton...Widow is working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Undercover, to infiltrate Strucker's base..." ignoring the bewildered looks from the men in the room, the operative continued, "Yes, the Widow '_betrayed_' you in a manner of sorts, but only to protect her cover…."

Clint's eyes narrowed at this. All this time, Fury had known exactly what was going on, he'd known about Natasha framing him, and he had still arrested him.

"**You** locked me up! You were in on this **whole **thing!"

"In on it? I arranged it!"

"And you didn't think to tell me, when I started chasing after her, that she was secretly on our side?!" Clint noticed he was edging closer towards the Director with each sentence, and not in a friendly way, but he couldn't stop himself.

"I thought you'd be useful to begin with. After all Strucker doesn't just let **anybody** into his inner circle, especially not a former S. .L.D agent. I decided that Widow would be a much more convincing if she had an old partner she'd turned against hunting her down!" Fury paused as he took another heavy sigh, "Until now."

Clint could feel his hands trembling slightly, but was unsure as to whether this was because of anger, or whether he was starting to believe Fury.

'_If he's telling the truth, then I've just destroyed a master operation…But he can't be telling the truth….?'_

Eyes still narrowed in Fury's direction, he muttered his second lie of the meeting,

"Natasha's good, but she's not that good. I…."

"You **what**? You would have seen through her act? You know she's that good.** Better** even."

Clint continue to stare at the man in front of him, on the outside seeming angry, but composed, on the inside, falling apart. For almost a year now he'd been hunting the Black Widow down, revenge almost turning into obsession, and now it had all been for nothing. Clint thought about his run-ins with Natasha, her cold calculating green eyes, the lack of emotion in her voice. Could she have really been acting this whole time?

'_What about the way she bruised your ribs and gave you a concussion? That didn't seem too pretend-like."_

But Clint knew it was just self-defence, both in the fact that he had been trying to kill her, and that she had been protecting her undercover role. Besides, he knew that Natasha could deliver a lot worse, more fatal blows if she wished.

A murmur of noise from the surrounding men, withdrew Clint from his thinking. Each of the men in the room conveyed a different expression; Thor had a look of confusion on his face, that made Clint have to wonder if Thor actually understood about undercover assignments. Captain America held a look of horror, as Clint had been expecting; Bruce Banner looked slightly…disappointed? Clint couldn't quite make it out, but he was sure he could sense disappointment on the man's face. And Tony, well Stark had a dreamy look in his eyes, accompanied it a Cheshire like grin. Clint rolled his eyes at the billionaire.

'_The damn fool is impressed with Widow. Not the time Stark.'_

Steve was the first one to actually speak, rising from his seat as he did,

"We have to release her. Right away, if what you say is true Sir then we can't afford to lose more time."

It was Fury's turn to roll his eye this time, and nodded at Cap'. As Steve went to walk out of the room, Thor spoke up,

"I don't understand. The Widow maiden, she is not on our side of the battle, but alas she fights beside us?"

Steve opened his mouth to offer more explanation, but Fury patted him on the shoulder and nodded at the Asguardian.

"How the maiden could live such a double life, and not give herself away?"

'_She couldn't.'_

Clint flashbacked to one of their big showdowns with Hydra; when everyone else had been busy in the heat of battle, and how he'd chased Natasha. How things had backfired for him, and he'd ended up trapped in Strucker's grasp, the life being sucked from him. He had thought that was the end. Only to be saved by Natasha, who had smacked Strucker over the head, rendering him unconscious. At the time he had been confused, believing the only reason she could have done that was so she could have the satisfaction of killing him herself. But instead she had carried Strucker's limp form away and left Clint sitting on the floor. It all made sense now.


End file.
